Pervertido. Hilarante puñado de cuentos cargados de oscura picardía, como la risa pilla de un viejo anglosajón. Mi favorito es 'Geometría de sólidos'. 'Fabricación casera' me pareció demasiado. 'Mariposas' te deja un escalofrío y en 'Disfraces' terminas embriagado y confundido. Imagina comenzar tu carrera literaria con estos títulos... Qué pensarían tus lectores..?

This is an evil, strange and disturbing book. The descriptions in the book are extremely detailed and exquisite, with no taboos. And when reading it, I always have this feeling: this book is like a heavy metal album, because it's rebellious, weird, and dark enough.

In this collection of short stories, the first one that fascinated me was Homemade, which tells a story of incest between siblings. Speaking of incest, I've found that many artists, when exploring this theme, adopt a very solemn attitude. However, in Homemade, Ian McEwan’s narrative about incest has a sense of playfulness, which, in my opinion, is a very novel and bold narrative approach. What is hidden in the text is not "meaning," but "pleasure." Reading is not a kind of "spiritual communication," but a sexual game between bodies. When reading frees itself from the tyranny of knowledge, ecstasy follows. I like this view, and in my opinion, this is the truth about reading. Moreover, I've found that the books I intend to read again are the ones that give me intense pleasure when I read them.

Ironically, I think the reason why a book containing such shocking short stories can be published in Asia is probably because of the footnote on the last page - there are 2 viewpoints: one is that "the suspected incest incident at the end is actually a playful fantasy of the author," while the other is that this novel "has an unusually urgent moral purpose, with the serious intention of revealing social ills and exploring the human condition."

I personally prefer to interpret this novel in this way: for the subversion of those stale morals or meanings, new and more humanistic morals and meanings can be derived.

Next, I wanna talk about another short story in this book, Butterflies. This story explores the inner world of a severely autistic person, the psychology of a pedophile, and the criminal psychology of a murderer. Of course, to be precise, the protagonist may not strictly be a pedophile. The reason why he chose a young girl as his target of harm is simply because, as an adolescent, he was a complete social outcast. He didn't know how to interact normally with others, so he couldn't seduce a girl over 14 in a normal way and relieve his sexual desire on her.

I've always tried to understand the protagonist's psychology from McEwan’s perspective, because I felt what he’s trying to magnify here is that many boys during puberty suffer the greatest pain from being unable to relieve their unusually strong sexual desire through the body of a different sex. When I was in middle school, those who had the opportunity to have sex with girls were basically those with very high emotional intelligence and a lot of courage. These boys never lacked the courage to fight and pick up girls. The reason why these boys dared to fight was not because they were physically developed, but simply because they were bold and had high emotional intelligence, which made them have many followers, and as a result, they could always win in fights by numbers. In fact, my observation tells me that when children fight, it's not about physical development, it depends more on courage and emotional intelligence..

I boldly guess that the vast majority of adolescent boys, when they cannot find a normal way to vent their sexual desire, will often also conceive of sexual fantasies related to rape, but fortunately, porns and their pair of lifelong “sex partners” save them. For this reason, many did not become a rapist.

Besides these 2, the other 6 short stories in this collection also have their own characteristics, but I will not elaborate on them here. You have had too much now.

I’ve always believed that, in a strange way, dark - themed art can purify the soul, while erotic art can soften the heart. Yet, in today’s mainstream culture, both these forms of art are often condemned. I wonder if this is because some people fear a society of individuals with sound minds and strong characters. After all, such people might not be easily manipulated.

I believe that there will be some who will criticize this book, morally. All I want to say is that moral criticism is very easy, and countless people are best at doing this, but it is also human beings who are the most capable of internal fighting, and it is also human beings whose moral system is the most chaotic. When encountering problems, why don’t we think about whether those so - called good people are hypocritical, think about why those so - called bad guy became bad because of social reasons, thinking like this, I think people in general will become more and more tolerant.

Looking at human history, it is not difficult to find that the most cruel and inhumane things in the world are often done by those who are full of moral righteousness; while those whose words and deeds often go beyond the secular standards of good and evil are often the most tolerant people in the world, and these people can help us rethink the definition of human beings.

And First Love, Last Rites, which transcends the secular standards of good and evil, is, in a sense, a book that can help us rethink the definition of human beings.

I am glad that I am an open - minded person, and I will never have the guts to do anything harmful to heaven or earth, but for everything that happens in the world, whether good or bad, I can still tolerate its existence.

After all, no one is perfect.

3.7 / 5 stars

Excellent and disturbing. One of my all-time favorite writers. Don’t know why it took me so long to get to these stories.

I have no idea what the heck I just read but I didn't like it. And it's not because I'm over here clutching my pearls over the subject matter, although it's admittedly unpleasant – the story where a teenager molests his younger sister (“Homemade”) is actually the best of the bunch, believe it or not. Some of these stories are depraved, some are dull and pointless, and some are both. I'm guessing that Ian McEwan just isn't for me, which is too bad … I mean, where else will I get my unnecessarily long short stories about incest and molestation and murder and animal abuse?

Compared to his later Man Booker Prize nominated works, Ian McEwan's earliest efforts are harsh, to say the least. Perverse and violent, the early McEwan had more in common with Stephen King than Julian Barnes, Kazuo Ishiguro, or A.S. Byatt. In fact, I'm not sure I could tell the difference between an early McEwan story and your typical King story. One could argue that McEwan is more polished than King, also more psychological than paranormal, but these differences would be measured in small degrees.

First Love, Last Rites was McEwan's very first book. A collection of stories, it was published in 1975, around the same time Stephen King was getting his start. It could be argued therefore that neither writer was inspired by the other, but that both writers shared similar influences. Perhaps it was merely in the stars—the writers were born nine months apart. Enough with comparison, Ian McEwan's writing was dark, full of taboos, and that's all there is to say about it.

As with most collections, the stories are rather uneven. There are those that stand out as being exceptional and those that are quickly forgotten. It is the stories that are most disturbing that are most unforgettable, and not just because they are so shocking. It is these stories—stories of molestation, incest, and rape—that McEwan's writing is at its best. Frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about that. If on one hand, McEwan had a sick obsession with these subjects, then I'm left uneasy with how to approach his writing. On the other hand, if McEwan had an obsession with these subjects that was based more on a heart for the victim, then I can understand. It all comes down to intention and psychology and... well, it's easier just to slap photos of King and McEwan next to one another and compare them.


Oh, look at that.

Put away the unease and any comparisons, and First Love, Last Rites is still an average collection overall. Yes, there are some wonderfully told, richly drawn five-star stories, but there are several duds as well, stories I'd forgotten before starting the next. Readers who have been personally affected by rape or molestation, or are deeply unsettled by such topics, may wish to avoid this collection, as well as anything McEwan wrote in the first ten years of his career, but other readers shouldn't necessarily avoid the author's earliest works simply because they're dark. In a 2015 article McEwan wrote for The Guardian, the author reflects on his first collection and how critics labeled him a monster, while praising the work itself. He writes, “It was difficult for me then, and would be even more difficult now, to persuade readers that my intentions were actually moral,” and gives a strong argument for how we, culturally, have become sexually confused. I think McEwan has a valid point, and it's one we could spend some time dissecting. Then again, perhaps it's simpler just to offer a distraction and move onto the next review...

The problem with compiling stories like these is that the themes lose their confrontational weight after about three stories. After that, the reader starts to expect a final act curve ball, which of course gravely undermines their impact. The inclusion of (I hazard the term 'lighter') stories like 'Last Day of Summer' and 'Cocker at the Theatre' adds balance, and 'Solid Geometry' is similarly great, though a little ill-fitting.

It's fortunate then that the force of McEwan's prose (even here in this fledgling state) is so arresting that it qualifies any subject matter as superb short story fodder. Not that the subject matter here is lacking in any way. I've heard readers dismiss McEwan's early work as 'perverted' and 'lacking substance'. Not so. The focus of these stories (and, heck, even 'The Cement Garden' and 'The Comfort of Strangers') never falls on the taboo, the obvious; there is always far more going than meets the eye.

Unlike Bret Easton Ellis and Chuck Palahniuk – who have made careers out of shock value for shock value's sake – McEwan's stories are as effective as they are because he humanises his dysfunctional characters. No one in this collection is two dimensional, and the justifications – as subtle and aching as they are – are never less than understandable. McEwan taps into core human emotions (loneliness, lust) and stretches them to where most wont let them go. This is particularly effective here because most of the main characters are children, or young adults who have been retarded by their upbringing. Adolescence is the stage in a person's life where boundaries and filters are still being defined – therein it is not impossible for the extreme scenarios here to actually happen.

There is no distance between us and our protagonists, even in the most cloying stories ('Disguises' and 'First Love, Last Rites'). Combine this with McEwan's penchant for precise details and you have the reader hook, line and sinker. McEwan's talent is in the way he provides such searing detail with so few words. So often does he walk a delicate tightrope between providing compelling characterisation and slithering off into irrelevance. In some of his later works ('Saturday' and 'On Chesil Beach' come to mind), the balance is sometimes compromised. But here, in his short fiction, the stories are taut and full of vigour.

I believe each of these stories is memorable in its own way. They primarily deal with the themes of death, sexuality, and childhood or burgeoning adulthood. 'Butterflies' is the only story that let me down, and that's really because it came so late in the collection (see my opening paragraph). 'Homemade' and 'Conversation with a Cupboard Man' explore just how confusing and terrifying childhood can be – particularly if it is warped by circumstance. Compared to the other stories, 'Last Day of Summer' is quite a different beast, one that put me in the mind of Sallinger's short fiction, particularly his Glass family stories. 'Cocker' is short fiction in its truest sense. It's a little more disposable than the rest, but only because its scope is so much smaller (it's social commentary disguised as a one liner).

'First Love, Last Rites' contains some real gems (I'd get into 'Disguises' – truly one of the best short stories I've ever read – but I don't want to spoil anything). It's for the open-minded reader who's willing to dig to find some of the deeper meanings. Though it's not without flaws, I'm certainly glad I read it. These stories have emotional resonance; I feel they will linger in my mind for weeks to come.

Ian McEwan doesn't write women well at all, they're basically just in this be cruel, boring, abusive, abused or a thing to be obsessed over. Despite that, and his tendency towards edgelordism there were some pretty striking stories here. I wish he'd resist the temptation to twist the knife, which happens often in the last few paragraphs of these; he does an unjustice to the more subltle unease in these by going for the juggular, reverting to those big shock factor taboo moments that are inevitabley going to be difficult to stomach. Nevertheless, his ability to write both the glittering, beautiful moments alongside the horrendous and grotesque does make these contrasts convincing.

Ian McEwan, you are one sick fuck. Sick sick sick sick sick sick siiiiiiiiick. But, man you can write. The gorgeous sparse prose – no words are wasted with you. I have come to expect the warped characters you write about, yet you still manage to surprise me. The way you get into their heads...wow.

This was me reading your collection of stories (most of this happened inside my head, but some of it happened audibly):

{read read read} Sigh…beautiful.
{read read read} Yeah.
{read read read} Goddamn it. You didn’t have to bring a cat into this. Asshole.
{read read read} Wha - What?
{read read read} AW, NAW!
{read read read} Nononononono...OH!

And that was just one story. And you keep doing that.

Whenever I read a collection of stories, I am tempted to pick my favorites and talk about them. With this one, they’re all so good I can’t highlight just one.

(Well, if I’m being honest, I should admit a little extra fondness for “Disguises” and “Conversation with a Cupboard Man.”)

Thanks.

This reading was shocking, the stories are dark and I hated! Between the stories and yourself there was not an author or anybody else; just yourself and the stories! He was just an eye to show you a picture; nothing more. Stories finished as they are, he did not accused or punished any one; so you are not sutisfied end of the day! They are dark but as a literature it is very good.

Blemba, ką aš čia perskaičiau???????

Knygos trigger warning: labai daug smurto ir labai slegiančios prievartos, patyrusieji ir patyrusios, neskaitykit.

Iš McEwano debiuto nieko pernelyg nesitikėjau: mačiau, kad apsakymai apdovanoti premija, bet man jo premijuotieji Amsterdam, Saturday nepasirodė superiniai, tai galvojau, kad ir čia kažkas tokio nelabai suprantamo bus. O buvo - įspūdinga proza, bet žiauriai disturbing turinys. Kiekvienam apsakyme mums pasakojama tai iš prievartautojo, tai iš žudiko perspektyvos, prievartą ir smurtą čia patiria vaikai, bejėgiai žmonės - iš kaimynų, tėvų, giminaičių, brolių... Labai baisus efektas. Ypač baisu, kad, kaip Haneke's "Funny Games", mes priverstos ir priversti tapatintis su smurtautoju - matyti jo ar jos perspektyvą, "logiką", aukos bejėgiškumą, pajusti savo galią. Ir kažkokiu būdu McEwanas nepadaro tos perspektyvos atstumiančios, jis priverčia ją išgyventi, pamatyti - ir tas ir yra baisiausia, tas nesmerkimas to, kas turėtų būti smerkiama, ko nesmerkt yra kažkaip labai neteisinga. Bet literatūrine prasme - visiškai įspūdinga. Kaip nei nepasmerkti, nei neišaukštinti, nei nenuslysti į pigius ašarų spaudimo (A Little Life, i still hate you) triukus?? Kaip iš viso to padaryti savo literatūrinį debiutą?? Ne dabar - 1975 metais, po visokių seksualinių revoliucijų, po bitlų... Man galva neišneša.

Ir dar, kas buvo matyti tiek iš The Comfort of Strangers ar Enduring Love, tiek netgi iš On Chesil Beach, - jis neįtikėtinai kuria įtampą. Du paskutiniai, ilgieji, apsakymai - "First Love, Last Rites" ir "Disguises" - skaitai ir net kvapą sulaikai, o jei kas pertraukia - rėki ir siunti. Ir visa ta įtampa nebūtinai net išvirsta į kokį nors smurto aktą..nors ką aš čia, viskas pas jį smurtas. Labai įspūdinga ir labai šiurpu, ir iš tiesų matai, ką galima padaryti su kalba ir siužetu, kaip galima nuvesti juos prie išvis neaišku kokių ribų. Jau sutariau, kam padovanosiu, nes net žiūrėt į tą knygą baugu :E

L’ULTIMO GIORNO D’ESTATE


Dal racconto “Conversazione con l’uomo nell’armadio” è stato tratto il film polacco del 1993 “Rozmowa z czlowiekiem z szafy” diretto da Mariusz Grzegorzek.

L’ultimo giorno d’estate è il titolo del racconto che ho preferito. La raccolta ne contiene altri sette, incluso quello che offre il titolo al libro (sia nell’edizione italiana che in quella originale).
È l’esordio letterario di McEwan, pubblicato nel 1975. Nascita di uno scrittore. E, secondo me, uno di quelli notevoli.

Otto storie, quasi tutte raccontate da un io narrante, che trattano di incesto, stupro, violenza, pedofilia, morte, crudeltà sugli animali. Con sottile atrocità. Producono inquietudine, non c’è dubbio.
Ma non m’è parsa mera voglia di trasgressione, soltanto desiderio di stupire, o morbosità. C’è altro: come se fosse una personale ridefinizione di Bene e soprattutto Male.
Nella quarta di copertina della mia edizione McEwan parla di ossessioni. Che diventano incubi. Almeno per il lettore.


”L’ultimo giorno d’estate” è diventato l’omonimo TV movie del 1984 diretto da Derek Banham.

E parla di pastiche: ogni racconto ispirato da un certo stile, da un certo scrittore (per esempio, McEwan nomina Henry Miller per quello intitolato Fatto in casa, il primo della raccolta). Una parodia, che però poi prende la mano allo scrittore e diventa narrazione personale, autonoma, originale. Si potrebbe definire una specie di laboratorio letterario.
E sin da qui si percepisce la qualità di scrittura di McEwan, che non è mai banale.

Al centro di ogni storia c’è quell’età che separa l’infanzia dall’età adulta, maledetta e benedetta, chiamata adolescenza.
E come nell’adolescenza, il tema del sesso è vitale, centrale, pulsante.
Come ovvio corollario, si parla di verginità, virilità, affermazione della propria identità sessuale.


”First Love, Last Rites” il film di Jesse Peretz del 1997. Qui Natasha Gregson Wagner e Giovanni Ribisi.

Il racconto del titolo è diventato un film omonimo nel 1997.
Farfalle ha avuto addirittura due adattamenti cinematografici: uno tedesco nel 1988, e poi uno inglese nel 2005.
Conversazione con l’uomo nell’armadio ha prodotto un film polacco nel 1993.
L’ultimo giorno d’estate un tv movie inglese nel 1984.
Altri hanno dato vita a cortometraggi.


”Schmetterlinge” di Wolfgang Becker, 1988.

Lo stesso McEwan ha firmato qualche sceneggiatura originale: per esempio, The Ploughman’s Lunch – L’ambizione di James Penfield film diretto da Richard Eyre nel 1983 (con Jonathan Price nel ruolo principale).
A testimonianza di un rapporto tra la letteratura di Ian McEwan e il cinema particolarmente fecondo e ripetuto, ma purtroppo non sempre felice: ricordo almeno un paio di romanzi, tra i suoi che preferisco, che sono diventati film poco riusciti: The Innocent (in italiano il libro è uscito come Lettera da Berlino), nonostante John Schlesinger alla regia, e The Comfort of Strangers – Cortesie per gli ospiti, nonostante la regia di Paul Schrader.

Ecco l’incipit lapidario di Farfalle:
Giovedì ho visto il mio primo cadavere.


”Butterflies” di Max Jacobi, 2005.

I definitely have a love-hate type relationship with Ian McEwan. This collection of short stories veers closer to the hate end of the see-saw. The content isn't the most savoury, dealing with a variety of unpleasant acts and people (think rape, incest, paedophilia, child murder and abuse, neglectful parents, often in the same story). However, his writing is lovely, sparse and clearly defined as usual. He also manages to grasp the underlying humanity (and often mundanity) of the troubled people within. Not an easy achievement.

I think my favourite story was 'Last Day of Summer' which conjures up a great cast of characters, immense sadness and sense of loss met with a glimpse of normality and joy. The atmosphere is electric but be reminded he has always been the master of wrenching the most heartbreaking and disturbing events out of the small moments of our lives. Not an easy book to like or read perhaps but interesting.